


She Wants Herself

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Us (Movie 2019)
Genre: Character Study, Choking, Doppelcest, F/F, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: In her dreams she cannot breathe. This is how the dreams begin; this is how they end.And when she dreams, she is not alone.
Relationships: Adelaide Wilson/Red (Us Movie 2019)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10
Collections: Femslash After Dark 2020





	She Wants Herself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



In her dreams she cannot breathe. This is how the dreams begin; this is how they end.

And when she dreams, she is not alone.

She discovered the secret pleasures of the body herself. No one had had to tell her or show her. She’d been much too young for any formal education of that nature anyway.

It’d been the clench of her thighs at first, legs straight, muscles tensed, an urgency inside of her she did not fully understand. Then the edge of the mattress or a balled up blanket, pillow or piece of clothing – a sensuous, glorious rubbing. Rhythmic movements like a dance performed on her belly. Then she’d graduated to using the heel of her hand. Later on, she’d begun using her fingertips, exploring the minute bumps, folds, flaps and apertures, none of which had names – or at least none that she’d ever heard uttered aloud by any adult.

She remembers those pleasures like they were only yesterday. No anxiety of discovery – she hadn’t known enough to be ashamed. But there had been anxiety of completion; what if that urgency inside of her could not be sated? What if the need could not be quenched? The touching hadn’t felt like anything at first, no different than touching the back of her hand or rubbing her closed eyes…until the creep, creep, creep of hungry feeling had started to develop.

That feeling had been wild, uncontrollable, joyful. She remembers the sudden clench, the crashing symphony of sensation, like a burst of bright light. She might have passed out that first time. She remembers how it’d been her – her alone – the giver and the receiver of the sensation, the conductor of that symphony, the author of that secret pleasure. She’d believed herself potent back then.

But she was wrong. How wrong she was.

Now she doesn’t do that – any of that – anymore. Not by herself. She can’t imagine how she would ever make herself feel good ever again.

She found the others first, and they give her what she needs. The Shadow followed her lead, of course, as The Shadow always did. Yes, for as long as she has known about The Shadow, The Shadow always has done this.

Being intimate with them doesn’t feel like those early discoveries. They are too different. There isn’t the slowness, the softness, the strong sense of herself in control of herself. She is not given the opportunity to luxuriate in the sensation of her own flesh, its strengths and its vulnerabilities. She can’t push herself or pull back, can’t punish herself or reward. Alien needs and desires impinge on her consciousness – _their_ needs and desires – and in the face of such things, she must make do.

How glad she is that she is able to retreat into her dreams. She can be with them but not _with_ them. With their actions, they can give her what she needs, and she can allow herself to dissolve into the overwhelming, contradictory sensations that fill the secret spaces of her body. And, most importantly, she can be alone with herself.

When the others choke the air and the voice out of her, she does not feel their hands wrapped around her throat or crushing flat her windpipe. Instead, she imagines that their hands are _hers_.

She wants herself. She only ever wanted herself.

Her discovery of pain was not hers alone. The pain of a cut or a burn – those were a child’s pains, not real pains, not the pains of a hard, sharp, cruel world. No, she would never have understood what it really meant to hurt if it hadn’t been for The Shadow.

It’d been the reaching out at first, the brush of fingertips against fluttering, vulnerable flesh. Active, passive, _active_ – the contraction of muscle and joint and bone against resistant gristle and tendon. Squeezing, and then squeezing more, until flesh began to yield, to collapse in on itself, until breath and sound were prevented from escaping, until the panic set in, until the mind went thick, hazy and numb. Until the voice itself was no more, a creaking, crawling, scrabbling husk of what had once been the sweetest, smoothest, dulcet tones. Until there was no escape. Until there were only the sunless underground tunnels.

She remembers that pain like it was only yesterday. No anxiety of discovery – she hadn’t known enough to be ashamed. No shame. Only fear. Only rage. She’d known she couldn’t leave it half-done; she’d needed to complete the act, to follow it to its end, to its logical conclusion, to find out for herself where that tunnel might lead. She remembers the creep, creep, creep of the desperation, how she’d been barely aware of gasping for air at first, how and then the stifling need to breathe became overwhelming and all-consuming all at once.

That feeling had been wild, uncontrollable, terrible. She remembers the sudden clench, the crashing symphony of sensation, like a burst of bright light. She might have passed out that first time. She remembers how it’d been the two of them – her and The Shadow – the giver and the receiver of the sensation. The co-authors of that nightmare.

There is no pain without pleasure, no pleasure absent pain. Once upon a time, she’d discovered the secret pleasures of the body. Once upon it a different time, she’d discovered how to give and receive pain. She did…and so did The Shadow.

When she comes, it has to be with two hands wrapped around her neck. She cannot have completion unless she cannot breathe freely.

Who is she? Is she the choker, or the one who is choked? Is she herself or The Shadow? Ah, but does it even matter? When they try to kill one another, she and The Shadow, the act feels almost like one of love. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Making love to oneself…is making love to _her_.

In her dreams she cannot breathe. This is how the dreams begin; this is how they end.

And when she dreams, she is not alone.


End file.
